Art in its Smaller Forms
by poeticmaiden
Summary: A collection of all my little Holmes-related scribblings that don't quite deserve their own story, including drabbles, answers to writing prompts, and more.
1. Introduction and Snowman

**Introduction to this Work:**

**This is a collection of all my little Sherlock Holmes scribblings that I feel are not quite long enough to justify having their own story. (Yes, I did steal the idea from several other Sherlockians on here who have started doing the same thing.) I know that I already have posted several stories that belong in this collection, but I am hesitant to move them here because I wish to preserve the reviews I already have on them. The stories in question are _The Importance of Recalling Instructions _and_ What One Must Do_. So for now, anything under 700 words will go in here, unless there's some special reason why it should not. I hope you enjoy my little stories!**

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**Title: Snowman**

**Rating: G**

**Warnings: Fluff!  
**

**Word Count: 100**

**Summary: A little wintertime fun at Baker Street....  
**

**A/N: This first selection is a drabble I wrote for the Watson's Woes prompt __****winter**. Yes, it is just fluff. Written 8/25/09

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"Well, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade said, seating himself near the fire so that he could warm himself. "I must say I like your snowman."

"Snowman?" Holmes looked utterly mystified.

Lestrade smiled. "Yes, snowman. Don't you know you've got a little one residing on the windowsill outside?"

"No."

"Ah, pity. It does look good with your hat and pipe, too."

Holmes bolted downstairs with a cry of alarm. After they heard the front door slam, Lestrade grinned at Watson.

"You?"

Watson nodded, returning the grin. "Clients say it helps them find the house better."


	2. Admit the Obvious

**Title: Admit the Obvious**

**Rating: PG  
**

**Word Count: 474**

**Warnings: Illness, and fluff.**

**Summary: Sickness strikes Baker Street, and even a stalwart physician is forced to concede with the undeniable.  
**

**A/N: Another scribbling for another Watson's Woes prompt, this one being the word "illness." I swear, this is not at all intended to be slash, so do not take it as such.**

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Holmes pushed away my hand fitfully, rolling over so that his back was to me. "Go back to bed," he groaned. "You shouldn't be up."

"Holmes, someone has to tend to you," I protested.

He rolled over and glared at me blearily. "You've got a fever too," he murmured. "You won't do either of us any good if you allow it to get worse."

"But what about you?" I asked, slumping into the chair I had placed beside his bed. Much as I tried to hide it from him, the weakness I felt was becoming undeniable. It was getting harder to concentrate on the task of tending to his wound.

"Call another doctor.... send us both to the hospital......"

I shook my head. "No hospital. More germs there.... than here."

He rolled over again and managed a weak, sarcastic smile at me. "Really."

I nodded slowly. Of its own accord, my head fell forward slowly to rest on the edge of his bed, and I did nothing to prevent it. It felt so good to lie here..... if only for a moment....

I don't quite know how it happened, but I found myself waking up to morning sunlight streaming through the window, without having been conscious of first falling asleep. My head still rested on the edge of the bed, the rest of me still balanced precariously on the chair. But when I lifted my head, I found one of the blankets that had been on Holmes's bed was now wrapped around my shoulders.

Immediately I felt ashamed of myself and tried to stumble to my feet, but gravity proved too much for me, and I only crashed back into the bed. I was unfortunate enough as to ram my nose into the shoulder of the bed's main occupant, who groaned and looked up at me with weary, fever-stained eyes.

"Don't care what you say, Watson.... I _am _calling another doctor." He scooted over to the far side of the bed, and then spoke again, in a more commanding voice than I would have expected from a man as sick as he was.

"Lie here until he comes, old fellow. You're too ill to stand."

Whispering thanks, I moved into the empty half of the bed, rolling myself up in his blankets until I was warm enough to make the chills die down a little.

Holmes says that Mrs. Hudson came in less than two minutes after I lay down, and that another doctor arrived within the half hour. I can only trust that what he says is true, for after my head hit the pillow I was not conscious of anything, except for the occasional murmur of voices, and Holmes gently speaking my name after the fever finally broke two days later.


	3. Departure

**Title: Departure**

**Word count: 100**

**Rating: PG  
**

**Warning: Character death**

**Characters: Watson, Holmes**

**Author's Note: Written based off of KCS's wonderful story, My Dear Watson. A huge thank-you to her for letting me write it! **

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Holmes began to play, and immediately Watson sensed a difference in the notes flowing from the violin. This was no popular piece played just to humor him — this was a soul, _his_ soul, poured out in melodies so gentle, so impossibly beautiful, that some part of him found it hard to believe this was Holmes.

But the rest believed completely.

Watson opened his eyes for the last time, tracing Holmes's silhouette as he stood in front of the window, playing. He smiled.

Closing his eyes, he allowed the music to take him by the hand and carried him away.


	4. I Allow Myself No Errors

**Title: I Allow Myself No Errors**

**Rating: G**

**Word Count: 228**

**Characters: Holmes, Watson**

**Warnings: Holmes being angsty, mention of Watson having a minor injury. **

**Summary: Even the world's greatest private consulting detective admits to making mistakes... whether or not he can come to terms with it is another thing. **

**A/N: Just a little drabble-like thingy in response to the Watson's Woes prompt of _mistake._ I have had several requests to expand on it, and I just might do so. ;) **

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"It was my error," Holmes said, glowering into the fire and removing his pipe to clench his teeth. "My oversight, my _mistake!_"

He snapped the last word, as if merely by speaking it he had defiled himself. I shifted uncomfortably, accidentally disturbing the bandage on my hand and sending another throbbing wave of pain coursing through it.

"And mine as well," I reminded him. "You can't blame yourself entirely."

"Yes…" he trailed off, and then, "But you didn't know, Watson. You, out of the goodness of your heart, simply did what you thought best. I knew….or should have known."

I was about to respond, but he spoke again.

"Mine is the greater mind," he said. "And I ought to use it, Watson. There can be no excuse for not using it. What is logic if it lies gathering dust between my ears?" He tapped the end of his pipe savagely on his forehead.

I walked over to him and put my good hand on his shoulder. "But can't you allow yourself to still be human, Holmes? Even a great mind such as yours must err from time to time."

"No," he whispered, glancing up at me for one rare, honest moment, and then quickly shifting his gaze back to the fire. "I allow myself no errors, not where you are concerned. I've made too many of those already."

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	5. To Darkness and To Me

**Title: To Darkness and To Me**

**Rating: G**

**Word Count: 232**

**Warnings: none**

**Summary: Out on a case on a chilly autumn evening, Watson reflects on the night... and on one particular creature of the night.**

**Author's Note: A short written for the Watson's Woes prompt of _chilly autumn evening_. Enjoy! Again, I have been asked to expand this sometime, and I probably will -- after NaNoWriMo, as that great event is currently taking up most of my writing time and my thought processes. **

**Also, the poem quoted is one my Thomas Gray -- #453: Elegy written in a Country Churchyard. You can find it by searching the first line that I quote. I came across it in a history book -- supposedly Wolfe quoted it before invading Quebec -- and thought it would be fun to use it here.**

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The wind blew sharp about them as they crouched in the shadow of the great manor house, with a thousand fingers itching to see them helpless at her feet. Watson shuddered from the cold, looked up over his shoulder at the sun setting behind the nearly-skeletal trees, and shuddered for a different reason. It would be night soon.

Night, at this time of year, in this place, seemed to take on more than just a name. It was a personality, a great, formidable being, and on occasion when the silence grew too deep, his wild imagination though he could hear it breathing. The sunset was a warning, reading, "You, mortal, do not belong here when the night comes to call. You ought to turn back."

But then he looked back at Holmes, crouched and tense against the ancient stone, his gray eyes gleaming darkly like some great cat of prey, and he was reassured. Whatever saying applied to 'mere mortals' did not, in this case, apply to Holmes. He was also a creature of the night. He was in his element, and they had nothing to fear.

"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day," he murmured, more thinking the poem than speaking it aloud. "…And leaves the world to darkness and to me."

Holmes glanced up with a twitch of his eyebrow. "Hmm?"

"Oh, nothing,"

They fell into silence again, waiting.


	6. Birthday, 1901 I

**Title: _ Birthday, 1901 _[1/2]  
Word count: 100  
Rating: G  
Warning: The last line might seem a little OOC. Sorry!  
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson  
Author's Note: Written for KCS's request of a 1901 birthday drabble.  
**

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In the year 1900, Holmes had been too busy ignoring the blathering masses to pay attention to their declaration that it was a new century.

Now that it was 1901 he had let his guard down, and that was when it hit him.

_Twentieth century_ did seem terribly newfangled.

He reflected on it over his before-breakfast pipe. Forty-eight years of life sounded like a lot, he supposed.

And that meant… oh, good grief.

Watson was going to be fifty this year.

_Half a century_ was even worse than _twentieth century._

He wondered if February was too early to plan something.


	7. Birthday, 1901 II

**Title: _Birthday, 1901 _[2/2]  
Word count: 100  
Rating: G  
Warning: None  
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson  
Author's Note: Also for KCS, naturally. Hopefully this negates the OOC moment of Part I.  
**

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But then… did he even need to do something out of the ordinary? Would Watson take it as an offence? After all, doing something special on the date could be taken to mean, "It has come to my attention that you are now ridiculously old."

However, if his Boswell was expecting him to remember, and he purposefully did not do anything…

Either possibility was dangerous, considering he lived under the same roof as Watson. But which side to err on?

Birthdays. The world would be a much safer place, he thought, if people stopped recognizing them after one turned thirty.


	8. Crossover: A Pity

_Here I must apologize, for this is actually a crossover between Sherlock Holmes and The Sherwood Ring, by Elizabeth Marie Pope. However, since there is no fanfiction section for The Sherwood Ring, and since I did not want to create a whole new story for a simple drabble, I'm sticking it here. _

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**Title: A Pity**

**Rating: G**

**Word Count: 100**

**Warnings: Crossover with a great lack of context. But how much can you do in 100 words?**

**Summary: A conversation between Holmes and Peaceable about the greatest difference between them. **

**Author's Note: Written by request, for my dear friend Laurie. ;)**

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"It's a pity," Sherlock Holmes mused. "You were almost perfect."

Peaceable Sherwood looked up from gazing into the firelight. "Almost?"

Holmes stepped out of the shadows. "Oh, I cannot fault you for your intellect," he said. "Only that you would allow such an intellect to be weakened by a woman."

Peaceable shook his head. "I pity your bleak outlook on romance," he said. "You do not know Barbara. Yes, I may be great. But when she and I work together, we are invincible. I am truly sorry that you have cut yourself off from the completion you could have known."


	9. Joyful Noise

**Title: _Joyful Noise  
_**

**Word Count: 100**

**Rating: K  
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**Warnings: none  
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**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson  
**

**Author's Note: A drabble written for medcat, who prompted me with "Friendship Indeed." Takes place directly after the events of EMPT.  
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As they walked away from Camden House, a quiet, almost confused chuckle took Holmes by surprise.

"Hmm?"

Watson smiled. "Oh, it's just that I fancy I could go dancing through the streets and shouting at the top of my lungs at this moment. I don't think I would care if I woke everyone up."

"You might regret it later, though," Holmes noted. "The police are still near enough to arrest you for disturbing the peace."

"I suppose so…" Watson sighed.

Holmes refrained from mentioning how the same desire pounded in his own breast.

And how he would have shouted loudest.


End file.
